


dying to find me a home

by unearth



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Gets The Therapy He Deserves, Billy Hargrove Lives, Christmas, Family Video (Stranger Things), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Movie References, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Harrington, Recreational Drug Use, Scars, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearth/pseuds/unearth
Summary: “So, like, let me get this straight,” Steve starts. He stares at Billy, tries not to get distracted by the shit-eating grin that’s spreading across his face like fire. “You bribed your sister with a car so that you could just…dramatically walk back into Hawkins? Make a little show out of it?”“Exactly right, Harrington.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 65
Kudos: 275





	dying to find me a home

**Author's Note:**

> yes it's october...yes this is a christmas-y fic... i have nothing to say for myself.  
> i've written them a lot but this is the first time i've posted so 🥺 !!!! please be easy on me i'm nervous  
> the title is from cherry blossoms by night beds <3

“Comedy, but also horror. Ragtag group of people trying to survive a hoard of zombies.”

“Alright,” Steve closes his eyes, racks his brain. Because he _definitely_ remembers putting out this creepy looking cardboard cutout that gave him the heebie-jeebies every time he passed by to restock a shelf. “I’m pretty sure that one’s _Day of the Dead_.”

Robin pops her bubblegum. “Nope.”

“You have to be _shitting me_ ,” he whisper-yells.

There’s a grandma right beside them, browsing the new releases, and he _really_ doesn’t want to be reported to Keith again. _Strike one_ , he had said, tried his best to be intimidating even though his fingertips were stained orange from Cheetos.

But, in Steve’s defense, that kid was, like, three inches tall and probably couldn’t even hear the F-bomb he dropped, let alone understand it.

 _Whatever_.

“What was it, then?”

“ _The Return of the Living Dead_ , dingus. I think you actually might be hopeless.”

Steve sighs and rubs his hands over his face.

It should maybe be, like, a _little_ concerning that it’s been four entire months since Starcourt and he still can’t sleep for shit. It’s making his brain turn into mush, straight up mashed potatoes in his skull. His attention span is shot, he’s got gnarly dark circles under his eyes, and he can’t even recognize the movies that he’s being _paid_ to sell.

Last time he got dragged into this nightmare of a town, walked around in secret tunnels and bashed creatures that shouldn’t exist with a spiked baseball bat, it didn’t take much time to get back to normal.

Life goes on, and all that.

Then again, last time, no one he knew died. July had made Hawkins reek of death, a sickening sweet odor that never left your space. Didn’t allow you to go nose blind. There were too many funerals afterwards, he couldn’t even keep track.

Alright. Enough of that. _Movies_ , Steve.

“Okay, well, I would accept my defeat _if_ those didn’t sound like the exact same movie.”

Robin makes a little noise, a mixture of a gasp and a groan, and Steve huffs a sigh. Braces himself for the incoming rant. “You cannot _possibly_ confuse something _George A. Romero_ directed with a Dan O’Bannon film.”

“Rob, do you _really_ think I pay attention to who produces these movies?”

“I _just said_ directed—” she sighs, sounds so horribly defeated. She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. Steve’s so close to laughing at the look on her face, but he doesn’t let it get past his teeth. Doesn’t want to get smacked on a Wednesday morning. “You know what? Fine. This one’s easy. Two nerds building a sexy robot woman.”

“Oh, shit. Wait. _Weird Science_.”

 _This one_ Steve is aware of. Could probably even give you a nice little summary if you asked, because Robin had burst into his living room one night and just said _Kelly LeBrock_ , and who was Steve to argue with that?

“Fucking _fi-nally_ ,” she drawls, taps her short fingernails near the mustard yellow phone that’s always ringing off the hook. “God, what a classic. Can you imagine that? Making your dream person appear out of thin air?”

The door chimes.

Steve looks up, hand immediately stilling on the cash register, because—

Because that _can’t_ be right. Really. Like, Steve _knows_ he hasn’t been sleeping well but he doesn’t think it’s gotten bad enough to cause extremely realistic hallucinations of Billy Hargrove.

And it’s like it’s the fourth of July again. When he was standing in the middle of Starcourt, just _watching_ helplessly as black goo spread across a crisp white tank top, a sharp and sickening contrast. Listening to Max plead and plead and plead, chanting Billy’s name like a prayer.

Steve’s hands start to shake, so he shoves them deep into his pockets and tries to _breathe_.

Billy’s hair is shorter. Shorter than Steve has ever seen it. But it’s still curly, _curlier_ even, strands of hair falling over his forehead in waves. There’s a faded, silvery-pink scar underneath his right eye, where Steve remembers a deep gash used to be. He’s walking with a slight limp, not too noticeable. You have to be looking.

Steve is—he can’t _stop_ looking.

It’s a shock to his system. Because when he sleeps, he dreams of early July. Of malls and monsters and drugs in his bloodstream, of Billy with his black veins and matted hair. And the boy in front of him—he’s the complete opposite. He looks fine. _Normal_. There are a few visible scars, the one on his face and some peeking from his sleeves, but. _Normal_.

Like nothing ever happened.

And Steve’s about to ask if this is real, if his body finally gave out and needed a desperate nap in the staff room and this is just _really vivid_ dream. Except Robin’s holding onto his arm now, which he can definitely feel, tense and stock-still.

He almost asks, _you can see him, too_? But then Billy’s looking at the both of them and just—walks past. Starts browsing the new releases, then heads to the horror section, fingertips running over the VHS tapes as he passes by.

He isn’t at all phased that Steve and Robin have completely stopped moving, motionless behind the counter.

They’re _staring_. Hard. And Steve, almost hysterically, thinks that his mom would be so disappointed. She’d always told him not to stare, that it’s _rude_ , and good boys don’t do such impolite things, but if she knew the circumstances, maybe she’d be a little more understanding. He’s betting that she would stare, too.

So he just keeps watching. And Billy just keeps browsing, reading synopses and tucking a few tapes under his arm.

Robin’s grip is like a lifeline, lets him know that _no_ , _you’re not dreaming_ , and then suddenly he’s taken back to last November, _a year ago,_ when Billy had showed up to the Byers’ house. Grinning like a madman, already itching for a fight. There was this look in his eyes, something so eerie that it had made the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stick straight up.

 _Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington_?

Jesus. _Jesus_.

He’s going to need an extra hot shower when he gets home. Needs to light a few candles from his mom’s junk drawer and just—fucking meditate, or something. Because all of this _stress_ , this _feeling_ that’s about to overflow and pour out of his mouth, it can’t be healthy.

His heart’s beating too hard. When he looks down, he can see it pounding strong and steady through his dark green Family Video vest.

And, like, he also needs to call Max. Go, _what the fuck, man_ , even though he’s always getting onto her for cursing too much. Because who the fuck doesn’t tell people that their brother is _alive_ after getting impaled by a fucking interdimensional space demon?

Billy walks straight up to them and sets four movies on the counter.

Now that he’s close, Steve blows out a breath. Something _relieved_. Because if this was some collective hallucination, some kind of fucking _mass hysteria of two_ or something, he probably would have morphed back into his flayed body. Deep gashes and an unearthly, empty look in his eyes. But instead, he still looks _normal_. Better than the last time Steve saw him, that’s for damn sure. A little leaner.

He carries himself differently. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look on the edge of a fight.

“Um,” Robin says, breaking the tense silence. Steve jumps a little at her side. “Will—will this be all for you?”

“Yeah.”

 _Yeah_. Billy’s voice seems to shake Steve out of it. He remembers that he has _hands_ , that he’s the one closer to the scanner and register, reaches out of his pockets and towards the counter to slide the cases closer to him so he can ring them up.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Billy says. His voice sounds raw, _deep_ , like he hasn’t spoken since July. Or maybe he’s just nervous. It got like that during away games, when they weren’t sure they were gonna pull off a win. _We can’t lose to rich city kids, Harrington. Pass me the fucking ball next time._

Then, because Steve is probably an idiot, he looks up. Looks right at Billy. Just— _stares_ at him, because that’s really all he can think to do at the moment.

His blue eyes are the same, steely and expressive, and so are his eyelashes. Long and curled up at the ends, fanning out neatly over his cheekbones when he blinks.

Steve’s stomach swoops.

His brain _might_ be a little scrambled.

“Seriously, Harrington. Take a picture, man, it’ll last longer.”

“No, _no_ , I’m not—I didn’t mean to, like,” he stumbles over his words, feels his face heating up at an alarming rate. Which is great. _Fine_ , even, that he’s making a fool of himself in front of Billy Hargrove, who is very much alive, after not seeing him for four months. In his stupid little work vest.

At least, he thinks, he’s not in his Scoops uniform.

“Sorry. It’s, um, it’s gonna be four thirty. Part of the, uh, four for four special. Says so over there by the Santa Claus cutout.”

“If it’s four for four, what’s the extra thirty cents for?”

“Um? Tax? I don’t really know how it works—”

“ _Harrington_. I’m just kidding.”

Steve lets out a breathy laugh, all nerves, and takes the five dollar bill that’s handed to him. “Okay. Yeah. I knew that.”

Billy _smiles_. It’s small. Real subtle. A gentle pull of lips. But Steve sees it, and feels his shoulders relax a little. “Sure you did,” he mutters under his breath. “Keep the change. Heard people didn’t tip you for shit when you were working at the mall.”

“I assume Max told you that?”

“Of course,” Billy takes the VHSes from the counter and tucks them under his arm again. Steve’s so frazzled he didn’t even offer a _bag_. “Told me a bunch of shit in the hospital to pass the time.”

Steve wants to ask if it was Dr. Owens, the same guy that helped Will and El. He wants to ask what all they had to do to save him, because Steve was _there_ , saw the way he wasn’t moving, wasn’t _breathing_.

But, he’s pretty sure no one wants to talk about their near-death experience in the middle of a family owned video rental store. So he bites his tongue, watches as Billy starts to back away from the counter.

“See you two when I finish these. Can’t do much else.”

“Alright. Um, I’ll be here. We both will. Um, pretty much every day unless I don’t feel like coming in.”

Steve’s about to be embarrassed, because _no shit_ he’s going to be here. But Billy _laughs_ and quickly covers it up with the front cover of _Another Country._ “Yeah, alright, Harrington.”

And then he’s gone. Steve watches him disappear into his Camaro—which, how the _fuck_ is that still kicking? —and it doesn’t take too long until he’s off, down the snowy road and out of sight.

He takes a few seconds to just, _stare_ at the door. Because— _four months_. Four months and then suddenly Billy’s here, right in front of him. In front of _Robin_. Wearing that same cologne he remembers stinking up the locker room.

Like everything’s perfectly normal. Like Hawkins hasn’t thought he was dead since the beginning of summer.

 _Four months_ of asking Max what had happened after Billy’s body was recovered from the mall, only for her to mime zipping her lips and shrug it off.

Which—okay. Yeah. Maybe that’s a little obvious now that he thinks about it. What the fuck? How did he miss that?

But it’s not like he’s been around her much to notice if something was fishy. He hasn’t been around _any_ of the kids much. There’s school and there’s his job. And, well. It’s not like he’s known to be _that smart_. He was lucky that he graduated high school with a decent GPA.

And, if _anyone_ was to keep their whereabouts hush-hush in order to make a dramatic reappearance, it _would_ be Billy Hargrove.

So, like, maybe he should have seen it coming.

“Uh,” Robin pokes at his arm. When he catches her gaze, her eyes are wide, pupils blown in shock. “What the _fuck_ just happened?”

“So,” Steve starts, “What I’m getting is that Max kept her mouth shut just so Billy could, like, waltz in and scare the shit out of everyone?”

Robin steals a candy from one of the jars without looking. “Jesus, man. How did he even—like, _Steve_ , we _saw_ him. All…” she trails off, closes her eyes and sticks her tongue out. “Dead. Super dead. Really, really, dead.”

“I mean, Will _did_ have a funeral back in ’83. There was a fake body, and everything.”

“Yeah, but,” she pops the caramel square into her mouth and shakes her head. “Know what? I’ll just accept it.”

Steve thinks about the cardboard cutout again and can’t help the laugh that spills out of him. “Hey, wait. _Return of the Living Dead_.”

“Holy shit.”

\--

The next time Billy shows up, Steve is _ready_.

It only takes him two days to finish the four movies he selected, and when he dumps them in the return box up front, Steve clears his throat.

“So, like. Where were you?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “My living room?”

Steve sighs and leans against the counter. “You know what I mean.”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because I thought you were _dead_ for four months. I’m sure anyone in my position would be curious.”

With a low chuckle, Billy stalks over to the candy jars on Steve’s left and takes a few mints. “Max really didn’t say anything?”

“No. I don’t know how she kept her mouth shut, but she did.”

“Promised to buy her a car when she turns sixteen,” Billy explains. He noisily unwraps all three candies, sucks on them like they’re _that_ good. And they would be, if Keith wasn’t so cheap and settled for the off-brand ones that taste like cardboard. “That’s how.”

“So, like, let me get this straight,” Steve starts. He stares at Billy, tries not to get distracted by the shit-eating grin that’s spreading across his face like fire. “You bribed your sister with a car so that you could just…dramatically walk back into Hawkins? Make a little show out of it?”

“Exactly right, Harrington.”

“People were upset about what happened, dude. I was really—that was really messed up.”

Billy’s eyes soften for a split second, but then his smile starts growing wider. All teeth, like when he used to taunt Steve on the court. _Plant your feet._ “You cry at my fake funeral?”

Steve rolls his eyes and focuses on the blinking, electronic blue screen of the register. _Maybe_ he did get a little misty-eyed, but. He has _feelings._ “You’re such an asshole, man. A lot of people did. The way you went out…well, I guess the way we _thought_ you went out. For El.”

“All I’m hearing is that King Steve cried at my funeral. I’m _honored_ , really,” he says, dropping all the plastic wrappers on the counter. Steve’s eye twitches and he throws them in the metal can beside him. “Anyways, you got _St. Elmo’s Fire_ in this shithole? Don’t really want to look for it.”

“We absolutely do,” Robin announces, walking out of the back room with a cardboard box full of freshly rewound tapes. “It’s in new releases, so. Shouldn’t take that long to find it. You a fan of Demi Moore or Ally Sheedy?”

Billy laughs a little at the question, starts to run his fingers across all of the movies on the shelf as he tries to find what he’s looking for. God. He’s probably going to end up spreading, like, Mind Flayer germs with all the touching he’s been doing. “Neither. Which one do _you_ like?”

Robin sputters a little and Steve’s about to say something, _anything_ to change the subject, but she recovers quickly and shoots him a friendly glare. “Both. Very talented actresses, if I do say so myself.”

“Mhm,” Billy hums distractedly, reading over a back cover. “You nerds got any other recommendations?”

“ _Oxford Blues_?” Steve answers, because, in all honestly, a customer dropped it off an hour or two ago and that’s the only movie that’s coming to mind.

If you were to ask him what it’s about, he would do the thing where you just laugh and act like you didn’t hear the question. That’s how he’s learned to survive at Family Video.

“That’s weird,” Billy says, walking up to the counter. He’s so close, Steve can smell that goddamn cologne again. Great. It’s gonna stink up the entire place, _again_. Linger around and give him a headache. How much does he even _use_ to get this effect? “Another Rob Lowe movie.”

Robin seems to get whatever Billy’s trying to say, giggling under her breath. “We got _The Hotel New Hampshire,_ too.”

“I’m afraid to ask what the joke is, here.”

Robin, putting two copies of _The Karate Kid_ back on display, shakes her head. When she speaks, she doesn’t even turn around. “He looks like Rob Lowe, Steve.”

 _Oh_.

Oh, yeah. He kinda does.

And, like, Steve chooses not to think about how he stares a little too hard at Rob Lowe when he looks through those teeny bopper magazines that are kept in the staff room. He _did_ think the dude looked really familiar. Kept looking at his eyes, that jawline.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Not right now, at least.

“Look, I’ll just snag a few from the comedy section and if they suck, I want a refund.”

“No refunds, you get what you pay for,” Steve recites. “Although _maybe_ if you answer some of my questions, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Billy looks at him, quirks one of his eyebrows. “What kind of questions?”

“Who the hell treated you? _How_ did they get you back?”

He squints, probably wondering if he should be talking about this out in the open, but it’s a Friday morning. No one comes in until school lets out. The last customer they had left an hour ago. “Dr. Owens.”

“Okay,” Steve says, nods. His guess _was_ correct. “Dr. Owens. How the hell did he do it? Billy, you were, like, _not breathing_. For way too long.”

“Hell if I know, Harrington. You gonna ring up my shit or should I just take ‘em and split?”

Steve sighs. He doesn’t want to push. Knows that if _he_ got stabbed a few times with giant alien arms he wouldn’t be talking about it in the middle of a store to someone he barely knows.

He doesn’t _want_ to push, but, well, his mouth starts moving before he can really reel himself back in.

“How about if I use my employee rentals on you, you tell me what I want to know?”

“ _Jesus_ , Harrington. Didn’t know you gave a shit. What else do you want to know?”

“Um, _everything_?”

Billy just laughs, a quiet little thing. “So my movies will be free?”

“I mean, I only get four free rentals a month, so—”

“ _So_ you’re loaded. I think you can handle paying for some movies.”

Steve crosses his arms. Stares at Billy, hard, even though he knows he’s going to give in.

His mom had mailed him a new card after Starcourt, wrote _for your troubles. Be safe._ Like being able to order a meat lovers pizza every night would somehow erase the trauma of the fourth of July. Like he didn’t just want his mom to hug him and kiss the top of his head like she always did.

“Fine. Okay. I could come over to your house, or something. To talk.”

“You _could_ , if you wanted to chit-chat with Susan and Max. I don’t live there anymore.”

“You guys move, or something? Max didn’t mention it.”

Billy snorts. “Government pricks set me up in this new apartment building a few blocks away from Melvald’s. Didn’t want to be at my house and made a big fuss over it, so they’re paying for me. Can’t leave Hawkins until I’m _officially cleared_ , they say.”

“No shit?”

Billy just nods and reaches up to push a short curl away from his eyes. Steve follows his movement, lets himself really look at his new hairstyle. It’s nice. Fits his face. It’s not fair, really, that Billy looks good regardless of style. “You got a pen?”

“A pen?”

“For my _address_ , pretty boy.”

He flushes at the name, hasn’t heard _that_ since high school, and fumbles around in the drawer beneath the register for a second until he finds his favorite pen and a yellow post-it pad.

And, like, watching Billy _exist_ right in front of him is still a little fucked up. Scrambles his brain, though he’s not entirely sure if it’s still because he’s randomly turned up after months. There’s something about the way he is now, the way he _acts_. His smiles are still sharp, but they don’t have the same bite.

If he had rolled into Hawkins acting like this, Steve could see them having been friends. They could have had fun on the court, hung out at bonfires on the weekends. Talked shit about Tommy and show up to parties together.

And Steve _wants_ to be his friend. Which is, like, a very weird thought to have. Especially after the dude nearly brained him a year ago and didn’t even apologize after the fact.

Then again, they’re probably considered even after he got impaled by a goddamn monster. 

Billy nudges both the pen and paper closer to Steve’s side of the counter when he’s finished. “Whenever you want to drop by, I’m all yours. _Oh,_ and you’re paying for these movies, by the way. Our deal starts now.”

And then, like last time, he just— _leaves._ Triggers the bell when he pushes the door open, disappears with his Camaro, which, fuck, he didn’t even ask about the car.

And Steve’s just left there, standing at the counter with something like a smile on his face.

He snaps out of it when Robin clears her throat, lingering by the jar of mints.

“What?”

“First time you’ve gotten a number. Should I get the whiteboard out again?”

Steve rolls his eyes and tries not to think about the absolute fucking shitshow that was their Scoops era. Tries not to flush, either. “It’s his address, first of all. Second, you’re annoying. You know that?”

Robin just cackles and turns back to stack the last of the VHSes.

Steve rips off the top post-it.

_3C_

_Beaumont building_

_Bring snacks. Or movies. Or both._

_B_

\--

The apartment building is _nice_.

It looks a little out of place, much more modern than Melvald’s or the new Radio Shack. But the colors are the same, all the deep browns and beiges.

It’s a little nerve-wracking, being in front of Billy’s door. It’s painted black, chipped in the corners, doesn’t match any of the ones around it. It’s kind of funny. He can imagine Billy hating the weird light blue color of the doors and going out to buy a big can of paint, stinking up the hallways.

They couldn’t tell him anything. He’s stuck here until he’s cleared. God, his neighbors must hate him.

The plastic bag of snacks he brought is just—idly swinging in his grip. His palms are a little sweaty. He doesn’t know why he’s so _nervous_.

Well, like, _maybe_ he does. _Maybe_ he’s not sure if he wants to talk about that night, because he’s been sleeping a little easier the past few days and he doesn’t want to fuck up the streak. His dark circles are getting lighter. _Maybe_ the thought of being alone with Billy sends shivers up his spine.

But, _god_ , he’s so curious. So he knocks on the door.

It only takes Billy a few seconds to answer. He’s wearing a stretched-out Metallica shirt with the sleeves cut off and pajama bottoms, hair all mucked up like he’s only just gotten out of bed. The warmth of his room trickles out, beginning to thaw Steve’s hands.

“Jeez. Thought you’d wait a couple days.”

“Got nothing else to do,” Steve says, and follows Billy inside.

It’s nothing like Steve pictured.

It’s neat, really organized, and he’s got a giant bookshelf by the TV. It’s _filled_. There’s books on the floor, too, stacked up and thick, the spines crackled and torn from use. And, like, Steve knew Billy was smart. He bragged about it all the time on the bus to away games and in class, but he didn’t know he was _read a million books in his free time_ smart.

There’s a kitchen area that’s lit up, Steve can see a table and a couple chairs. A few beer cans on the counter, next to bread and cereal.

“You gonna look at my shit all day, or?”

Steve rolls his eyes and plops onto the couch. It’s _comfortable_. Better than the one in his house, barely used. Still lumpy. “I brought some stuff.”

“I can see that,” Billy says, amused, taking a seat right beside him. They’re not separated by a counter, their shoulders brush a little. “It better be good, Harrington.”

It turns out that Billy doesn’t like Snickers but he _does_ like Twix and Baby Ruth. So. Whatever. More Snickers for Steve. He _also_ has an agenda against John Hughes movies, even though Steve’s pretty sure it’s just an act. _Everyone_ likes _The Breakfast Club_. And he’s _also_ pretty sure _Sixteen Candles_ is gonna be a classic in the future. Even Robin agrees.

“Whatever. You couldn’t have thrown in some slasher flicks?”

“I mean,” Steve starts, already feeling a little embarrassed. He _was_ going to, Robin said that the second _Halloween_ was decent, but he figured Billy needed a little space from scary shit. A horror movie could be based off of his _life_ , at this point. “I just didn’t want to, like, give you something jumpy. Because you live alone now, and. You know. _Yeah_.”

Billy’s eyes soften again, like the day before at Family Video. He looks away, takes a pillow from beside him and hugs it to his chest. “Okay, well. What’s your first question? Hit me.”

“Dude,” Steve says. Twists so he’s facing Billy. “How the hell did you survive that? _That’s_ my first question.”

“So you know how everyone turned into weird, fucked up monster goo or some shit? I didn’t. They took my body and started pumping me with some top-secret shit, which got my heart going again. They didn’t really think that shit was gonna work, but I came to and just started _swinging_.”

Steve cackles and immediately covers his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s not really sure if he’s _allowed_ to laugh. But he can see it so clearly, Billy trying to take out a bunch of doctors that are just trying to help. “The hell did they use?”

“Don’t have a goddamn _clue_. I heard them talking, though, said a bunch of stuff about Russia, so they probably stole it. Anyway, they were super fucking careful with me. Thought I was still possessed until I started telling them to fuck off.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you.”

“Fuck off,” Billy laughs, a _real_ one, and shrugs. “Had to have a lot of blood transfusions after I woke up. Even more surgeries to put my goddamn organs back together.”

“Do you, like, have to take something for all of that?”

Billy hums. “I take a cocktail of shit. A lot of shit was damaged, so it’s just to keep ‘em running.”

“Did you get paid?”

“Hell yeah, I got paid.”

“So that Camaro. It’s a new one?”

Billy grins, sharp. “Absolutely.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment. “Why didn’t you want people to know you lived?”

“Thought it would be funny,” Billy says easily. He laughs a little to himself again and reaches out to the coffee table to get the bag of Doritos. “Which—it was. You and that band chick looked like you were going to pass out when I walked in. You should have seen the kids when I picked up Max at the Wheeler’s.”

“Robin.”

Billy looks confused for a second before he realizes what Steve’s referring to. “Yeah, her. You two a thing?”

Steve nearly chokes on his Coke. “No. No, she’s my best friend.”

Billy hums and starts munching on his chips. “You got anymore burning questions?”

He does. He really does. He has, maybe, like, a billion. But he also doesn’t want to bring up anything upsetting, which is kind of hard since, you know, the entire fucking thing is terrible. He doesn’t think Billy would even care.

But he settles even further into the couch and tears open his Snickers bar.

“You want to watch _The Outsiders_?”

“Jesus Christ, dude. What is it with you and Rob Lowe? Keep it up and I’ll get the wrong idea.”

Steve’s _ears_ burn. “Shut up. He’s in good movies.”

“Whatever you say, Ponyboy. Hand me the remote.”

\--

Steve’s in the staff room the next time Billy shows up at Family Video.

“ _Steve_ ,” Robin calls, repeatedly tapping the bell they keep at the front. “Someone’s here to see you.”

He stumbles out with a cardboard box, heavy and filled to the brim with returns. Tries not to light up too much when he sees that Billy’s leaning against the counter like he owns the place, all leather jacket and blue jeans. His cheeks are a little pink from the cold.

“Don’t tell me you already finished all the movies I brought you.”

“I absolutely did,” Billy says, grinning at him. Showing all his teeth. “You gonna give me some more?”

“I’m a _little busy_ here,” he mutters, through clenched teeth, drops the box to the floor that they should _probably_ vacuum sometime soon. “I’m sure Robin can pick some stuff out. She knows a lot more than me.”

“Oh, tell us something we don’t know, sweet Steve.”

And then Steve has to stand there, stocking shelves, while Billy and Robin talk and talk about some movie called _Rocky Horror_ or something, he can’t be sure. He doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

It’s nice, though, to see that they get along so well. Means that they can all hang out together someday, grab something to eat at the diner and drive around listening to some music station that Billy’s bound to hate, because anything that isn’t heavy on guitar and yelling at you is, “pure shit” and a “waste of musical talent.”

He’s nearly done, sees the light at the end of the cardboard box, when Billy comes over and nudges him with his elbow. “You were right. She does know more than you.”

Steve rolls his eyes but laughs anyway. “What’d you get?”

“ _Sunday Bloody Sunday. Eraserhead_. Get with the program, Harrington. How do you work here and not know shit about shit?”

“I’m pretty, I don’t have to know about movies.”

Billy straight up _cackles_ , pushes at him lightly. “Yeah, alright. That’s true.”

And, normally, Steve would reply to that, further the banter, but he’s too busy trying not to fucking _blush_. It doesn’t work. He can feel his cheeks getting hot, hopes to everything that’s holy Billy doesn’t mention it.

Because Billy’s called him pretty before. He said it just the other day. Steve had just assumed it was, like, some kind of jab.

This? This is, like, _serious_. At least, it sounds like it is. Or maybe it’s another joke.

 _Maybe_ he’s spending too much time thinking about it.

Jesus. It’s not like—

Okay. Fuck. Get it together.

“You okay over there? Thinking too hard?”

Steve forces out a laugh and shoves back at him a few seconds too late. “You gonna get out of our hair if I send you out with a few more?”

Billy pretends like he’s thinking about the question. Runs his fingers over his chin, stares up at the fluorescent lights. Steve tries not to think about how fucking _blue_ his eyes are, under the harsh gleam. “No. I don’t think so. I think you guys would miss me too much.”

The door chimes.

Steve breaks eye contact to look at the door, ready to recite his, _welcome to Family Video, I’m right here if you need any assistance._ Except he stops abruptly, because it’s just the kids. All piling in like they can’t just wait a few seconds to each go through the door, like, you know, _normal people_.

It does make Steve smile, though, seeing them so excited to have a movie night. Last time they rented _Nightmare on Elm Street_ and didn’t stop talking about it for _days_. Literal days. Same shit, too. _Freddie Krueger’s makeup was so fucking awesome! Sorry, Steve, I won’t say that in front of your customers._

“So _this_ is why you’ve been M.I.A.”

Dustin stops right in front of Steve, throwing a _look_ at Billy.

“Come again?”

“You’ve been ignoring me for the past week.”

Steve looks at Billy, a little apologetic over the _drama_ that is Henderson, and then back to Dustin, who’s looking at him like he’s kicked someone’s dog. “Um, yeah? Not on purpose. I’ve been working. You have school.”

“That’s true,” Dustin says, crossing his arms. “ _But_ , could it also be because you’re spending way too much time with Billy Hargrove? Could that be it, Steve?”

Billy takes a step back and nods in the general direction of the exit. His eyebrows are practically in his hairline, but he looks pretty amused about the whole situation. “Yeah. I don’t have time for your weird little children, Harrington.”

Steve finishes stocking _Footloose_ and kicks the cardboard box aside. “Really? You sure we won’t miss you too much?”

“I’m _so_ sure. Next time you drop by, bring some Famous Amos and the movies you owe me.”

“Will do, your majesty.”

Steve turns to watch Billy leave, laughs at the middle finger that’s thrown his way, and then hisses at the sudden feeling of Dustin flicking his side. “ _Jesus_. The hell’s your problem?”

“Billy Hargrove is replacing me. _Billy Hargrove_.”

“Don’t be so _dramatic_. We’ve hung out, like, _one time_.”

Max chooses that time to skip over, orange hair flying behind her like a wave. “He’s totally replacing you. Steve’s all Billy can ever _talk_ about now, he won’t even—”

Steve cuts her off just because he doesn’t think he can _handle_ hearing the end of that sentence. Doesn’t want to read too much into it. “Christ’s sake. Go bother Robin, I need to get another box from the back.”

“Don’t bring me into this!”

\--

Steve brings the cookies.

He brings a six-pack of beer, a joint he rolled just before driving over. A few movies that Robin recommended with a tiny little glint in her eye. Billy’s smile is like the goddamn sun when he opens the door and sees him.

“You know that those government assholes said I could literally do whatever the hell I wanted in here and I still wouldn’t get kicked out? Perks of dying.”

“Could tell,” Steve says, kicking his shoes off once he gets comfortable on the couch. “Your _door_ , man.”

Billy _giggles_ , taking a beer from the plastic rings. “You should’ve heard my neighbors that day. Dramatic as fuck, said they were gonna die from the toxic fumes. Like, if I could survive a goddamn alien attack you can deal with the smell of paint, you know?”

“So, like. Making this whole building reek of weed. That won’t get you kicked out?”

“I think I could straight-up murder someone in here and they wouldn’t do shit. They _need_ me here for my _periodic tests_.”

Steve hums. He’s never heard about those before. “Tests?”

Billy chugs his beer before responding, burps loud enough to disturb the whole hallway. “Therapy sessions. Blood tests, X-rays, anything to confirm I’m not suddenly possessed by those _Mars Attacks_ bitches again.”

“I think you and Robin are, like, made up of movie references. Can’t catch a break when I’m around you two.”

“Sorry that we’re cultured, Harrington,” Billy says, crushing the beer can easily. “You gonna light up that joint, or what?”

Steve pats his jeans, fishes his lighter out of his pocket. “ _You_ won’t get in trouble if we stink up the place,” he mumbles around the joint he places between his lips, thumb flicking until a flame appears. “But what about me?”

“Oh well. Your daddy can bail you out of jail.”

“If anyone can even fucking _reach him_ in Italy or wherever,” he says, humming when he gets a good inhale. “Even then, he wouldn’t give a shit.”

Billy’s hand is already out, waiting for his turn. “He’s really in Italy?”

“Probably,” Steve blows out the thick smoke, coughing a little at the sting. He takes another quick hit and passes it to Billy, letting his head loll to the side so all he can see is him. “Last I heard. Mom hasn’t called me since…Belgium?”

“The fuck’s in Belgium?” Billy asks. He coughs after his first inhale, mumbles something about how California’s supply is _definitely better_ , _is smooth unlike this hick shit_.

“Something about mining. Machines and shit. I don’t fucking know.”

“So they’re just flying around the globe without a care in the goddamn world? How would you even get ahold of them if something bad happened?”

Steve breathes out a humorless laugh. “I don’t.”

Billy grunts, takes another hit. “Fuck parents. All they do is knock you around and dream about the day you’re eighteen and they’re free of you.”

And Steve’s taken back to when Max had a talk with him, after the fourth. She said something like, _That day I stuck a needle in Billy’s neck…his dad had done something to him before he came over. I don’t know what, but…That’s why it got out of hand._

It wasn’t an excuse. It was just an explanation. And Steve understood, then.

Billy hums after a heavy stretch of silence. “Hey, you know how that monster thing stabbed me a billion times? Of course you do,” he nudges his hand against Steve’s, lets him take a turn, “You wanna see how it looks, now?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, look,” and then he’s sitting up, tearing off his fleece shirt and tossing it so it crumples on the coffee table.

Steve’s mouth is so dry. It’s definitely the weed.

 _Mostly_ the weed.

Okay, so maybe it’s only a little bit because of the weed. Because Billy’s still jacked, only slightly leaner. And he’s got these silvery-pinkish-red scars scattered all over his skin. By his bellybutton, near his heart, on either side of his abs. He has some from those weird gashes, on his arms, near his shoulders, but those are mostly faded silver.

Steve swallows. Doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, here. So he just sits up, takes his sweet time pulling a hit from the joint and lets himself look.

Billy looks peaceful, letting him look. Looking at _him_ with something Steve doesn’t really recognize. Wouldn’t recognize if he was sober, either, he doesn’t think.

He wonders, almost hysterically, if he’s the first person other than a bunch of government doctors that’s seen his body after Starcourt.

“Can I,” he says, and yeah, he’s _high_. Because he didn’t mean to say that. His brain obviously doesn’t care about his dignity, though, because then he’s finishing his thought with a quieter voice. It shakes, a little. “Can I touch you? Like, the scars, I mean.”

“Sure,” Billy says. _Breathes_. He looks a little out of it, too, and Steve would make a joke right now, ask, _you sure the Cali supply was better_ , but he’s never felt so tense before. Not in a bad way, either.

And so Steve leans forward and drops the nearly burnt out joint on the mouth of his beer can and then turns back to focus on Billy.

And Billy. He’s got his lips parted, and there’s color high on his cheekbones. His eyelashes are fanning over them every time he blinks, and Steve laughs a little to himself, because, _yeah_ , he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how pretty that looks.

“Hurry up before I change my mind, Harrington.”

And, like. The thing is, Steve doesn’t want him to change his mind. So he reaches out before he can think twice and rests his hand over Billy’s heart. Feels the steady beating under his thick, healed skin. The longer Steve touches him, the faster it gets.

“Looks cool,” Steve says, dumbly. Laughs at himself, too, after he realizes what he said. “I mean. You know. Not cool how it happened, but.”

Billy laughs. Steve can feel the rumble of it beneath his hand and remembers he’s still touching him. He doesn’t make a move to pull away, though. “You have such a way with words, Shakespeare.”

And just because Steve’s an asshole and feels unbearably seen, he moves his hand across Billy’s skin so that it’s resting near his belly, now, fingertips grazing the scars near his abs. So it’ll shut him up.

It works.

Billy breathes in sharply, half-lidded eyes snapping up to look at Steve. He doesn’t say anything, though. And neither does Steve.

He just keeps exploring Billy’s body, running his fingertips over raised, jagged skin. The ones on his chest and abdomen are so much _angrier_ than the ones on his arms and over his hands. They’re intentional, placed in each spot almost surgically.

Steve wants to kill the Mind Flayer again. Just—grab his baseball bat and go to town.

“Do they hurt?”

“Not really,” Billy says, voice thick. “Not as much as they used to.”

“And, like,” Steve trails off, lets his hand fall into his lap. “You’re okay? When you’re here by yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s—” he turns his attention to the loose thread on his sweatpants. “It’s mostly just at night. Still get the heebie-jeebies when I’m driving in the dark, or something.”

“Doesn’t exposure or some shit like that help? We could go somewhere at night, somewhere safe. To the movies, or something. Help you get over it.”

Billy breathes out a quiet laugh and looks up again, locks their eyes. “You paying?”

Steve shoves him. “You only like me for my money, Hargrove.”

“Of course I do. What gave it away?”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Steve says, louder than he means to. This weed is really something. “Robin was talking about this new vampire movie a few weeks ago. We could see that, if you want to.”

“Sure.”

“We don’t have to,” Steve says, a little quickly. He doesn’t want to rush him into something he’s not ready for. It took him a good couple of weeks to feel safe outside when he first got mixed up with the Upside Down. He _still_ doesn’t feel safe, but the fear isn’t as paralyzing. “We could stay here. Invite Robin over, or something.”

“Nah, that sounds good, actually. Haven’t been to the movies since I died.”

Steve laughs, a little crazed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“ _What_? It’s true.”

“Maybe. I’m really glad, you know.”

“That I _died_?”

Steve sputters trying to get his words out, eyes growing wide. He probably looks like an idiot. No, he _knows_ he does. The only plus side is that it’s making Billy cackle, that genuine laugh that makes Steve’s chest grow warm. “Glad that you’re _back_. That you’re, like, the _opposite_ of dead.”

“Shakespeare really does have some competition tonight.”

“Jesus Christ, man. I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”

Steve lets himself smile.

Doesn’t confirm or deny that statement, even though he’s pretty sure Billy knows, anyway.

\--

“Here’s the thing,” Steve says one Tuesday morning on lunch break.

Keith is out front, letting them have an extra-long ‘breather’. Says something like he’s trying to be _nicer_ , a better influence now that he’s a bigshot boss. Steve really doesn’t care, is just thankful that he gets to shoot the shit with Robin while he picks the toppings off his pizza.

His nerves are showing. Robin knows he doesn’t like to waste his food, is watching him with a raised brow.

It’s _dumb_ that he’s nervous. Really, really dumb. Robin’s the best person to tell, to talk his feelings out with. Because they’ve done this before. Well— _she_ has, and nothing bad had happened. The world didn’t immediately catch fire.

Actually, maybe it did. It _definitely_ did. And a giant monster crashed through a building and killed a few dozen people, so. Maybe that’s not the best comparison.

It’s just that—no one admits stuff like that in _Hawkins_.

It was an unspoken thing. Got you shoved against lockers if you acted even a _little_ different, a little suspicious. Hell, Steve had _been_ the one pushing. Back then, when Tommy would egg him on, and he was arguably the biggest asshole in the entirety of Indiana.

“I am probably, I don’t know, seventy-five percent certain that I have a crush on Billy. _Maybe_ eighty.”

“Good for you, Steve. Me, on the other hand, I’m one hundred percent sure that you do.”

Steve sighs. “Of course you are. When did you find out?”

“Honestly, I _just_ put two and two together. The other day, when Dustin threw a huge shit fit? I was like, if Steve’s ditching me _and_ Dustin, something’s up. Then I started to _really_ pay attention. You’re sleeping better. Smiling more, even though this job makes you a little miserable. You talk about him all the time.”

That’s—okay, that’s _fair_. But,

“Well, _everyone_ talks about him. He _did_ miraculously come back to life.”

“Sure thing,” Robin says, eyes teasing and full of mirth, but her smile is soft, and Steve knows that she’s about to start cooing over him any second, now. She can deny she’s a softie all she wants, but Steve knows the _truth_. “You know, I _will_ say I’m surprised you aren’t freaking out more.”

“I mean. So much crazy shit has happened to me in the past couple of years that it didn’t even phase me. Like, for one, I saw a monster come out of a wall. We got drugged by Russians underneath of a mall.”

“ _Ooh_ , a poet and you didn’t even know it.”

“You trying to act like that was funny.”

“Ouch,” she says, mocks offended. She pushes away her container of leftover pasta and looks at him. Really looks at him. “You gonna tell him?”

If Steve had a mouthful of pizza, he would have choked on it. Because— “Are you insane? No, I’m not going to tell _Billy Hargrove_ that I have a fucking crush on him.”

“Why not?”

“Because we _just_ became friends? I don’t want to get my brains bashed in with a dinner plate again.”

“Oh, precious Steve,” she says. Looks at him with this _knowing_ look that irks him more than he could ever explain. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“Why?”

Robin just stares at him.

“ _What_?”

“Nothing. Just—nothing. I’m really glad you told me. Think we might have a thing about coming out to each other in the weirdest of places, though.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah. Maybe. The bathroom floor was definitely weirder.”

The world doesn’t immediately catch fire. And Steve feels like he can breathe a little easier.

\--

_Bisexual_ , is the word. Him and Robin make a whole day out of it.

He tells her that he really did enjoy Kelly LeBrock in _Weird Science_ , still gets a little heartbroken thinking about Nancy. Looks a little too long if a girl comes in with shiny lip gloss and big, curly hair. But he also stares a little too long at those colorful posters of male celebrities in magazines.

And he definitely almost passed out when Billy took his shirt off in front of him. So.

She brings these magazines over, something called _Gay and Lesbian Times_ that she gets from San Francisco, a book called _The Homosexualization of America_ that looks a bit like Billy’s books do. Worn out and beat-up, like she’s read it cover to cover more than a handful of times.

Steve thought it would be scarier, learning about this side of himself. But when you’ve fought monsters, it’s… _nothing_.

Robin pinches his cheek when he tells her they’re going to the movies in a few days, just says, “Good luck, Romeo.”

\--

Friday comes quick, and when he clocks out near seven, he _might_ speed home a little.

It’s kind of useless worrying about his appearance, since he’s just going to be in the _dark_ for a couple of hours. But, like, it feels like a _date_. It’s _not_ , definitely isn’t, Billy would probably kick his ass if he said something like that, but.

It sure does feel like one. Billy had told him to pick him up a little early so they could get a good seat. Have enough time to buy out the concession stand.

And Steve’s _nervous_. Has been nervous more often than not, nowadays. Hasn’t been like this since _Nancy_ , when they first started going out and he would stumble over his words like an idiot when she so much as looked up at him through her eyelashes and started to blush.

He changes a few times. His floor is a fucking disaster when he finally settles on an outfit, his big winter coat over a plain long sleeve. And, like, he _only_ settles because it’s cutting close on time, and Billy would be so pissed if they didn’t have time to get his candy and popcorn.

When he pulls up to Billy’s building, he’s already outside. He’s leaning against the brick wall, thick plumes of smoke wrapping around the air beside him. He isn’t even dressed for the weather, the ruthless cold of November turning into December. Only has his denim jacket for warmth.

It’s probably the exact same outfit from the day Steve first saw him, thermal shirt and belt tight around his waist. The only thing that’s missing is his necklace, the one he always placed perfectly on his bare chest.

Steve feels a little breathless. Lets himself think so, instead of pushing it away.

It’s fine. Whatever. _Thinking_ your friend is cute isn’t illegal, or some shit. What Billy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He walks up to the Beemer with a soft smile on his face, throws his cigarette to the ground before he gets in.

“You’re a little late.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

Billy huffs when he puts his seatbelt on. “I run hot.”

“Okay. Yeah. Californian blood, and all that. But it’s, like, mid-forties.”

Rapping his knuckles against the passenger window, Billy just rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Runs his tongue over his bottom lip, the way he used to do when he knew he was getting under Steve’s skin. “Already died once. Don’t think hypothermia’ll get me.”

Steve just shakes his head with a smile and lets it go.

Billy makes a _face_ when Duran Duran starts playing and starts biting on his thumbnail. He manages to make it a whole minute without saying anything. Waits until Steve makes a left at the library to inhale and clear his throat. “Do I have permission to touch your stereo, King Steve?” 

“Not heavy enough on guitar for you?”

“Nope,” Billy answers, popping the P. He reaches for the knob and turns it slowly until the bass nearly blows up the car, drums making their seats vibrate. “There we go. Have you heard this before? Fuckin’ _classic_.”

Steve can barely make out the words. _A feeling of a hammerhead, you need it oh so bad_. “Um. _Pantera_ , right?”

“Jesus. _Metallica_ , man.”

“Knew that.”

Billy smacks his arm. He almost doesn’t feel it because his coat is so goddamn thick. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

And it just feels so much like _middle school_. When Steve would flirt by the way of teasing, when he let his hand rest on a girl’s arm for a beat too long. That whole, if he’s mean to you, he likes you sort of thing. Which is bullshit, of course, but still. All of that _teasing_.

It feels exactly like that. And it makes Steve’s heart stutter, makes his cheeks feel hot. He just laughs at the whole thing, this whole situation, and breathes out a sigh of relief when the movie theater comes into view.

The parking lot is almost fully packed. It takes a few minutes of driving around aimlessly until someone finally pulls out and opens up a space for them.

They book it into the building, and Steve blows out a breath when the heat hits them upon entering.

“Gonna melt with that big ass jacket of yours, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes but shrugs his jacket off, anyway, draping it over his arm. “Better than freezing to death.”

When it’s their turn to order at the concession stand, Steve just looks over to Billy. Gestures for him to order.

“You know I was fucking around about buying me shit, right?”

Steve flushes. Because—the thing is, he _wants_ to buy him stuff. Get him whole packs of candy and buttered popcorn. Like he would do if this were a date. But he can’t really say that, can he?

“Just get whatever you want. It was my idea.”

Billy raises his eyebrows, mumbles an _‘okay_ ’, and then faces the employee. Steve recognizes her, thinks maybe she was a year below him in school, watches as she blushes and twists a strand of her curly blonde hair.

And, like. It shouldn’t bother Steve. It really shouldn’t. Because he _knows_ Billy is attractive, his curls are extra springy today and his _jeans_ are tight and his boots give him an extra inch. He would openly gape if he were her. But _he’s_ here with him, and, like.

Billy’s _smiling_ at her. That razor-sharp grin that shows all of his teeth, and he’s leaning against the counter, pointing at the candy through the glass display and lowering his voice like he’s trying to get her blush to deepen.

“Two candy combo, large popcorn, large Coke? That’s it?”

“Hm,” Billy hums, then turns to face Steve. He’s still smiling, got that fucking _look_ in his eyes that’s so dangerously playful that Steve absentmindedly brings his hand to his own face to check if he’s flushing. “Is there anything you want?”

“I, uh, I think I’ll just. Have some of that popcorn,” he says, dumbly, fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. He slides a twenty across the counter and blows out a breath while they wait.

Billy, though. He’s still looking at him, Steve can see it in the corner of his eye. “Harrington,” he says, voice low. Teasing. “You starting to melt? Told you that coat was gonna be trouble,” and then he’s reaching over, pressing the back of his hand against Steve’s forehead. “Hm. Nope. Feel normal.”

 _Middle school_. An excuse to touch. Steve feels a little frenzied when he forces out a laugh and bats Billy’s hand away. He feels like he’s been burned.

And, like. There’s no _way_ he’s not blushing, now. Is probably mirroring that girl who’s scooping popcorn into a tub with stars in her eyes.

“Seriously. You okay?”

“Fine,” Steve rushes out, takes the Junior Mints and Milk Duds from the counter. “Fine. I’m alright.”

“If you say so,” Billy says, slowly, takes the popcorn and drink the girl hands over. Shoves the leftover change into Steve’s hand. “Let’s hope this movie doesn’t suck.”

The movie sucks.

Well, it’s not _bad_. Steve’s thoroughly entertained. It’s just—it’s so sexual. And Robin didn’t say anything about that, how there would be a lot of talk about sex and hot vampires and, like.

Steve’s losing his mind?

Because he’s _human_ , okay. He’s human and he’s starting to squirm a little, using the tub of popcorn to cover his jeans that are, embarrassingly enough, starting to fucking _tent_. In _public_. Beside _Billy_.

Onscreen, the Countess is throwing the pillow off of the guy’s lap, where he was trying to hide himself. And Steve’s _ears burn_ , because he’s doing the exact same fucking thing. And then she’s biting off a button from his shirt, keeps going lower and lower until all of them are gone, and—then she’s on her _knees_ , and—

And he’s _curious_. Curious as to what it would be like if Billy let him between his legs. Let him unbuckle his belt, tug his jeans over his thick thighs and touch him. Have him in his mouth. Which—is a wild thought, really, because he’s never done it, wouldn’t even know _how_ to, doesn’t know if he’d be any good at it.

But the thought is there, bouncing around in his mind, and he can’t seem to control it.

He wonders if Billy would taste good. If he’d be loud, or quiet, or talk to him in mostly curse words.

Most of all, he wonders if Billy would _let him_.

Steve’s painfully aware that they’re in the back row. That Billy’s beside him, tense like he is, and if this were a different world, maybe they’d be—

Okay. _Okay_ , no.

Absolutely not.

He shakes his head, sits up a little straighter, and starts to focus on eating small kernels of popcorn. When he takes a sip of their shared drink, he forces himself not to wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

He doesn’t even dare look up at the screen until the scene has changed.

The movie ends. It was alright, didn’t keep his attention that much after the whole _incident_ , and when the lights come on, Billy’s already looking at him with that fucking _grin_.

“Jesus, man. Can’t believe you wanted to see _that_ with me.”

Steve’s already stuttering before Billy can even finish his sentence. “I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have— _Robin_ said it was—I didn’t know.”

Billy’s _cackling_. Losing his shit, really. Clutching at his stomach, his fit is so intense. “ _Your face_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Very funny. Glad this amuses you, Hargrove.” Steve grumbles, but he’s smiling, considers reaching over just to brush the curl out of Billy’s eye.

“Hell of a way to spend my first night out. Don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

“God. I _am_ a little sorry, though. That was…”

“ _Fun_. It was fun,” Billy says, laughter finally dying down. “Really. Thank you.”

And his eyes are soft again, sparkling in the dim light of the emptying theater. And Steve’s _floored_ , because, in all honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s ever known someone so effortlessly pretty. Messy curls, chocolate stain near his bottom lip, butter stain on his denim jacket, and all. 

The drive back to Billy’s place is quieter than the drive there.

Billy doesn’t even nag him about the music, just lets Elton John croon softly in the background while they pass by dark houses and stores that are close to being shut down for the night. While the tiny, gentle snowflakes fall onto the windshield.

The building eventually comes into view, and Steve slowly parks into the empty space beside the Camaro.

It’s a weird moment. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he should lean over, offer out a fucking hug, or something.

“So—”

“It’s getting real late. You wanna stay over?”

The question takes the breath out of him, for a split second. He has to inhale before asking, “You sure?”

Billy makes a move to undo his seatbelt. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sure, okay. I can take the couch.”

“Sure,” Billy agrees. Even in the darkness, his eyes are unbearably blue. “If you want the couch.”

“Couldn’t take your own bed away from you.”

Billy makes a face. Steve doesn’t even try to decipher it.

\--

Steve wakes up and almost _cries_.

He hasn’t had this good of a sleep in _years_ , maybe. His eyes aren’t heavy upon waking, he doesn’t have a headache from how tense he was when he was dreaming. It’s so—it’s _refreshing_ , and he wants to just, pick up the phone, call Robin, tell her _I’m pretty sure it was more than eight hours, tonight_.

Before he can, though, he realizes he’s not in his own room. He blinks his bleary eyes, can see a big bookshelf, smell bacon and eggs, and then—

“Hey. You finally up?”

Steve rubs at his eyes, pushes himself up on his elbows. “Jesus. Yeah. Time’s it?”

“Almost noon. Thought you died on my couch.”

Steve huffs a laugh and pulls up the blanket Billy had given him the night before, until he’s covered from chin to toe. “Comfy.”

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Billy says, plates clattering around. The phone rings, loudly, and Steve groans to himself at the noise. It makes his ears ring. “Will you get that?”

Stretching, Steve reaches for the phone high up on the wall and muffles a groan when he nearly falls off the couch. “Hello?”

“ _I knew it_.”

“Knew what? _Dustin_?”

“How the hell did that dipshit get my number?”

“I heard that,” Dustin complains. “I asked Max for Billy’s number to see if you were over there. Do you want to know _why_?”

Oh. Oh, shit. “Shit. Dustin, I completely forgot.”

“It’s fine. It’s just that my best friend has been straight up ignoring me and blowing off our plans. Other than that, it’s gravy.”

“I promise we can go to the arcade next weekend. I’ll get you double the tokens.”

“Triple.”

Steve heaves a sigh. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine.”

“ _Good._ ”

And then he’s hanging up, and Steve’s lazily crushing the phone against the receiver until it clicks into place.

“What did he want?”

Steve stumbles out of his comfortable spot on the couch and wraps the blanket around his shoulders, pads into the kitchen. And—

Billy’s just in his boxers.

The scars on his back mirror the ones on his front, but these are lighter. Less intense.

He wants to blurt out, _aren’t you fucking freezing_ , but knows that Billy would just waggle his eyebrows and say some stupid shit about California living in his veins.

It takes a good few seconds for Steve to recover, to clear his throat and take a seat in one of the chairs at the table and try to remember how to speak.

“Um, I might have forgotten I was supposed to take him to the arcade last night.”

Billy snorts and brings over three plates that he somehow manages to balance in his hands. Eggs, bacon, toast. It smells fucking _heavenly_. “You stood him up so you could see a sexy vampire movie with me?”

“God,” Steve groans. He hides his face in his hands, crosses his ankles underneath the table. “Please don’t bring it up again. Ever.”

“If you wanted to watch a dirty movie with me, all you had to do was ask, Stevie.”

It’s like, Billy constantly wants to see how much he further he can push Steve to the edge of insanity. He’s pretty fucking close, actually. When he looks up, ears burning, he can’t help but laugh at how _proud of himself_ he looks. “You’re so awful.”

“Why do you spend so much time with me, then?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe I’m finally going a little crazy, after everything.”

Billy just raises his eyebrows and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He sits down directly across from Steve and rests his chin on his hands. “I think I know why.”

“Why _what_?”

“Why you spend so much time with me.”

Steve’s heart starts to pick up. He reaches for a piece of bacon to distract himself, asks, “ _Why_?” around a mouthful. It’s _good_. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. Billy is somehow good at everything without trying, the bastard.

“’Cause you like me,” Billy says, plain and simple.

And, well. Steve doesn’t really expect that. He pauses, _freezes_ , and he’s desperately trying to come up with something, _anything_ to say, but then Billy’s shoving his fork into the scrambled eggs and moving on.

Like he didn’t just rock Steve’s entire world.

So Steve lets it go. He laughs and it sounds _off_ , a nervous little sound that fills the kitchen.

\--

“So, you’re saying he _knows_?”

Steve grumbles and leans further into the counter. He makes sure the few customers that came in a few minutes earlier are deep into the store, makes sure they can’t hear him.

“I don’t know. I mean, he jokes around like that all the time, but the _way_ he said it,” Steve trails off to find his breath, drums his fingers against the register. “I’m going crazy. Which is terrible, because it’s _Christmastime_ and it’s my favorite time of the year. I’m supposed to be drinking hot cocoa with those tiny marshmallows and watching those stupid animated movies on channel four and instead, I’m, like—”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Relax, dude. Take a breath.”

Steve forces himself to inhale. Exhale. Blows out a relieved breath when he feels his nerves start to calm.

Robin, eyes full of concern, pinches his cheek. “Look. If that was him telling you that he knows, he didn’t kick you out or, like, deck you. You think about it that way?”

And—well, no. He didn’t.

“No.”

“Well, you should.”

“Why?”

Robin sighs. Smacks his cheek lightly, the same place she pinched. “Boys are so stupid.”

\--

When Steve’s phone rings, he expects it to be Dustin.

He doesn’t at all expect Joyce’s tinny voice to come through the receiver, and it takes him a second to _respond_.

“Mrs. Byers, I—”

“ _Joyce_ , Steve, you know that.”

Steve laughs a little, leans against his wall and twirls the cord in his hand. “Joyce. Sorry. How have you guys been?”

“We’re alright. Pretty much settled in _._ ”

“That’s good,” Steve says, mouth a little dry. Doesn’t know whether to ask if _she’s_ okay, about Hopper. “Um, is something up?”

“Nothing bad, sweetheart. I was calling to ask for a favor.”

“Anything, Mrs—Joyce.”

She laughs, a soft crackle over the line. “I was thinking about bringing the kids over for Christmas. El really misses Max, Will won’t stop talking about the boys. Do you think we could stay over for a couple days? If that’s alright with your folks?”

Steve holds back a laugh. “They’re away for the holidays, so you’re more than welcome to. I’d love that, actually.”

“Oh, sweet boy. You’re all alone?”

“It’s okay. I’m actually—I’m really good lately. Working with Robin, hanging around with Billy.”

Joyce makes a soft noise. “I’m so glad that poor boy is in one piece. Will told us about all of that when Mike called.”

“Yeah. He’s—I’m really glad he’s here.”

“Do you have a pen, sweet boy? If you grab some ingredients before we come down, I can make Christmas dinner. Some pie, too. I can pay you back as soon as _._ ”

“Definitely. And you’re crazy if you think I’m taking your money.”

\--

Steve doesn’t see Billy until almost a week after their movie and sleepover.

If it were up to him, they would have been hanging out every day, because he can’t seem to get _enough_ of the guy, but Billy was called in to the medical facility, asked to stay a few nights so they could get ahead of their tests, give him time to himself for the holidays.

He’s pretty much dozing standing up, because maybe he sleeps better knowing where Billy is, knowing he’s safe and at home, and it’s been a little hellish, not hearing his voice.

Robin’s called out sick, said something about how she’s pretty sure she caught a cold going ice skating with _Heather_ , and God, he really wants to ask about _that_. But she’s not here. And neither is Billy.

Until he is.

Steve doesn’t open his eyes when the bell chimes, just immediately goes into his Professional Voice. “Welcome to Family Video. Let me know if there’s anything I can assist you with.”

“Jesus,” says the voice, and Steve’s eyes snap open, “You look like shit.”

And Billy’s there, looks perfectly normal, and he’s in a bigger jacket, this time, since next week is Christmas and the weather is dropping like fucking crazy. It looks so big on him, swallows him up. His curls are hidden by the fuzzy hood.

“Billy,” Steve breathes out, because he can’t really stop himself. It’s sick, actually, how much he’s _missed_ him. “When’d you get back?”

“Just now. Came here right away.”

Steve doesn’t think about what that could mean. Doesn’t think about Robin’s conversation. _He didn’t kick you out, or like, deck you._ Just smiles, soft, and comes out from behind the counter before he can even really understand what he’s doing.

And what he’s doing—he’s moving right up to Billy, opening his arms up for a hug, because apparently, he’s gone insane.

Before he can play it off, Billy’s smiling, _eyes twinkling_ , and then Steve has an armful of him.

He’s so _warm_ , smells like cologne and hospital. He smells like soap, too, like the medical facility only provided him with the shitty generic kind that sells for cheap. Not the kind he usually smells like, something like pine and citrus.

Steve’s, like, extremely aware of the little bit of height he has on him. If he wanted to, which he really, really does, he could tilt his head, rest his cheek right on top of Billy’s hood. He could put his chin over it, pull Billy closer to his chest.

“You miss me that much? It was five days, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, then takes a step back. Okay, maybe it was half a step back. Because he wants to stay close. Wants to bask in Billy’s warmth, like he’s a fucking spot of sunshine in his bedroom on a Saturday morning. “You’re, like, one of my _two_ friends. It was boring without you.”

“You have lots of friends. All those rugrats.”

“They don’t count.”

Billy just laughs to himself, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Dustin will have a shit fit if he hears you saying that.”

And, like—why the hell are they talking about _Dustin_ right now?

“Did everything—are you okay? Was everything okay?”

Billy nods, tucks his hands into his pockets. “Everything was normal. They should leave me the fuck alone until after the new year.”

“That’s good,” Steve says.

He can’t really stop smiling. Because Billy’s fine, his tests are normal, and Christmas is _next week_. And Joyce is going to stay over, and it’ll feel like a _real holiday_ for the first time in _years_. Won’t wake up to an empty house, won’t stay over awkwardly at someone else’s, intruding their space. He’ll have Joyce, he’ll have Robin, he’ll have _Billy_.

And so, he’s probably in the best mood he’s been in all year. Which is why he just blurts— “Do you want to spend Christmas with me?”

Billy’s eyebrows slowly raise, nearly disappear beneath his curls. “Just you?”

“I mean. Joyce is coming over with El and Will, and I think Robin might stop by. But I want you to be there, too. If you want.”

“Of course I’ll come.”

\--

Christmas Eve is _cold_.

Steve turns the heater on blast, doesn’t care if he gets an angry call from his father about it. His fucking feet might fall off from frostbite or hypothermia or whatever the fuck kind of thing that would cause that to happen.

Billy’s tucked beneath a few different blankets, socked feet barely poking out. “How long did you think Santa was real?”

“Santa’s not _real_?” Steve exclaims, hurrying back under the blankets next to him. They’re watching Frosty the Snowman, one of, like, a thousand animated movies showing on channel four the whole night.

He hears the heater turn on and sighs in relief.

“Shut up. Seriously. Or did your parents just tell you they got you a bunch of expensive shit and it’s under a fancy tree in your living room?”

“My cousin broke the news to me when I was, like, eight. I was kind of devastated. You?”

Billy smiles to himself and burrows a little closer to Steve.

“My mom accidentally told me. We were up late, about a week before Christmas. And I’m asking her about all sorts of stuff, like, how the fuck does Santa visit me when we don’t have a chimney, you know? She managed to shut me up but then she got real tired because of her shift that day. Then she just went, ‘ _I got you this—_ ’ and god, her _face_.”

Steve’s never heard Billy talk about his mom, before. He knows a little, because of the fourth of July, because of what El has said, but he’s never heard it directly from him. It makes his heart ache.

“That’s a cute way to find out, though. She was so excited about what she got you.”

Billy breathes out a laugh, and when Steve looks over, he’s got this pleased little look on his face. “She had reason. It was this gnarly fucking Lego beach set. Looked just like home.”

“I got you something,” Steve says. He was going to wait until tomorrow, he really was, but he wants to do it when it’s just the two of them. Before Joyce and the kids get here. “Is that okay?”

A little breathless, Billy makes a face at him. “What is it?”

“Well,” Steve starts, hesitantly getting out from the warmth of the covers. He pads over to the kitchen, to the junk drawer by the fridge. When he gets back to the couch, Billy is sat up straight, looking a little nervous. “You could just open it.”

Billy takes the small gift bag. It’s red and white, decorated with little glittery snowflakes. Steve watches him, sees his throat work. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Steve.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Steve’s heart goes a little wild when Billy takes out the white tissue paper and brings out the first thing: a tiny rectangular shape wrapped very messily. This one’s the joke gift, something to balance out the meaning of the other.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy barks out a laugh after he carefully opens it, looks up at Steve with a dangerous little glint in his eye. “The hell is this?”

“Free rentals for life,” Steve says, like it’s not written on the card. “It’s real, though. I talked Keith into it.”

“Think I’m gonna run that business into the ground.”

“Probably,” Steve agrees. “There’s something else in there.”

He’s getting a little nervous. No, he’s a lot fucking nervous, actually. His palms are sweating, and they shake a little when he brings his hands into his lap. Because—he put thought into this. Read a book that Robin leant him, about all the different meanings of all these different crystals, because he saw it once on her desk and thought it looked interesting.

Robin helped him pick out the chain, and, like, Billy’s taking _forever_ to open the box, just looking at the velvet case with wide eyes.

He eventually does open it, after what feels like a few hours. Give or take.

His eyes widen when they settle on the necklace. Color spreads slowly to his cheeks, pretty and pink.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s about to, just, fall right out.

Because his eyes are just— _locked_ on the box. He’s not blinking, just runs his gaze up and down, drinks in the cool gold of the chain, the yellow quartz of the stone that’s shaped like a large teardrop.

“Steve.”

“It’s, uh, a Citrine stone. Robin let me borrow this book about crystals, and this one, it helps the heart, I guess? And I thought it would be good for you, since it’d be right there,” he explains. Reaches out to touch Billy’s chest, lets his fingertips rest softly against the soft cotton of his shirt, where he knows a deep scar is. “Since yours, you know. Stopped fucking working for a while.”

Billy’s really quiet. His eyes are still hard on the box, on the stone.

And Steve’s fucking nervous, never knows when to shut up when he’s nervous, so—

“It says it, like, purifies the body of toxins, too. I kind of forgot most of it, since I read about it a few weeks ago, but it also has to do with courage, which is fitting. Like, when I think about you, about what happened, _brave_ is what comes to mind. And, _oh_ , _the sun_. It holds the energy of the sun.”

Billy breathes out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. Steve’s just glad he’s finally reacted, because he was about to do something stupid, like freak out and ruin this quiet, _tender_ moment. “Holds the sun. Like Cali.”

“Like _you_.”

Billy’s eyes snap up. Steve kind of forgets how to breathe, but thankfully his body continues to do so. He’s quiet for a beat. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I—?”

And then he’s being _kissed_.

He makes a noise of surprise, a small _mmh_ , into the softness of Billy’s lips. Which, _that’s_ a thought. Billy’s lips are soft. They’re _soft,_ and when Steve slowly angles his head to the right, the stubble on his face scratches him in this really foreign way that he really, really loves.

Billy pulls away after a few seconds, way too early, and Steve can see the obvious concern clouding his eyes, they’re so close. “Shit. I’m sorry. I meant to ask—”

And then Steve’s kissing _him._

It’s nothing like kissing a girl. Girls are soft and they usually smell like this certain floral perfume, but Billy’s kissing him _hard_ , scratching him with his stubble, and his nose is filled with his sharp cologne and something so distinctly _Billy_ that it shoots something down into his stomach, settles warm and heavy and comfortable.

Steve feels _high_. He moves his hands into Billy’s hair, lets himself feel the short curls that he’s been wanting to touch so badly, and fuck, he kind of wishes it was long again, wants to run his fingers through the strands and _pull_ , gently.

It makes him laugh, that thought, a little wildly into the shape of Billy’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” Billy asks, and it’s muffled, Steve can barely make out what he says between his head swimming and the way the words get eaten up by his own lips.

“Just,” Steve breathes, settles both of his hands on Billy’s face. “I think I’ve wanted to do that forever.”

“You _think_ or you know?”

“I know.”

Billy lights up. His nose scrunches, and he averts his gaze to the Hawkins sweatshirt Steve’s wearing. “So why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“Didn’t think you would be into it,” Steve answers, simply. His thumbs move without him really noticing, rubbing small circles into the soft skin of his cheekbones.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Billy chokes out a laugh, settles his hands on Steve’s wrists so they’re just trapped there with each other. Holding onto one another like they’re going to up and float away if they’re not anchored somehow. “Called you pretty. Invited you over after that stupid horny vampire movie.”

Steve drops his hands from Billy’s face, pushes at him lightly. He’s laughing, and his chest feels so _light_. “Stop bringing that up. I was so—” he cuts himself off, tries to eloquently word his thoughts that are quickly spiraling, making his stomach twist. “I wanted to…”

Billy watches him, so gentle and patient.

And, like. Well, that makes it worse, his kind stare. Makes him fumble on his words. “Wanted to look over at you. See if you were thinking about me. Because,” he cuts off with a nervous laugh, looks up at Billy’s eyes and then back down to his plaid pajama pants. “I was thinking about you. What I wanted to try.”

“Jesus,” Billy gets out. His tongue darts out to lick over his teeth, over his bottom lip, and Steve is completely zeroed in on the movement. “You make me crazy. You _have_ , ever since I moved here.”

“Since— _then_?”

“Had a shitty way of showing it. I’m sorry about that, you know. You said we’re even, or whatever, but I’m still really sorry,” he says, voice quiet. Soft. Steve watches with big eyes as Billy’s hand comes out towards him, as he runs his fingertips over Steve’s forehead. Over the scar. “I probably should have said that earlier.”

“I mean, I get it. Max told me, after…after the fourth, what happened that night. Before you came over. She wanted me to understand why it got so fucked up.”

Billy’s quiet. His jaw sets.

Steve breathes in, braces himself for what he’s going to say. Doesn’t really care if it makes him a bad person, or whatever. “I’m glad he’s dead. I would have killed him if the Mind Flayer didn’t get to him first.”

Billy kisses him again. It’s a barely-there touch of his lips, seems more like a comfort for him than anything else. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet. Shining desperately, like he’s doing everything he can, so the tears won’t fall.

“Couldn’t even piss on his grave until I got out of the hospital,” Billy tries to joke. He laughs, a small heave of his body, and the sudden movement makes the tears spill over. “Shit.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve whispers, moves to catch the warm drops racing gently down his cheeks. “I’m right here.”

“I know you are,” Billy says, sounds kind of like he’s in awe. “I know you are, pretty boy. I was, um. I was going to wait until tomorrow.”

“For what?”

And then it’s Billy’s turn to pull himself up off the couch, grabbing his jacket that’s draped over the recliner. He pulls something out of the front pocket and crosses back over to the warmth of blankets. “This is really,” he breathes out a laugh. “It’s nothing compared to yours. But, when I was in the hospital, they made me have therapy sessions every day after I was well enough to walk and talk. And there’s this exercise they made me do. Write down five things that made you happy that day.”

Billy plays with the slightly crumbled, folded papers in his hand. Steve watches, is quiet as Billy tries to figure out what to say next.

“It was the same shit over and over again. I’m happy I had buttered toast for breakfast, because the cereal they had was fucking gross. I’m happy that my dad’s dead so I don’t have to get a ring in my face for taking the trash out too late. I’m happy Max visited. Shit like that.”

Steve, honestly, doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Just waits, looking at him with wide eyes. Listens to the sound of his breathing over the quiet cartoon snowman’s voice.

Billy looks up at him, then, and shoves the papers into his hands. “It’s not really a present. I just didn’t really know how to tell you _thank you_ , or whatever. For making me feel like a fucking human being again, after everything. And I know you like sappy shit, so.”

When Steve unfolds the notebook paper, he’s met with lines and lines of Billy’s messy handwriting.

_I’m happy because Steve came over today and watched a stupid movie with me._

_I’m happy because Max called me her brother._

_I’m happy because I don’t have to be angry anymore._

_I’m happy because Steve looks at me like I’m not a monster._

_I’m happy because my neighbor brought over a piece of pie. And it was really fucking good!_

_I’m happy because Steve laughs like a dork and he looks like one in his work vest._

_I’m happy because I’m learning not to flinch when people move too quickly. That was fucking embarrassing._

_I’m happy because Steve slept over, and his hair looks really stupid when he wakes up._

And there’s so much more. Like, pages and pages filled with different colored pens and pencils, and it’s mostly about _him_.

_I’m happy because Steve talked about California today, I really want to be able to show him around, because Steve sang along to The Cure and actually has a really nice voice, because Steve took me to the diner and remembered my order._

“Me?” is all Steve can say. His voice sounds a little broken, like he’s about to cry, and, like, _oh_ , he _is_ crying, can feel the tears track down his cheeks like raindrops on a window.

“Yeah, _you_. Always you, Steve. _Of course_ , you.”

Steve laughs wetly. Drags his sleeves over his face to rid himself of the tears and leans in again. Billy’s mouth welcomes him, opens and lets him in. The slide of his tongue is enough for Steve to make another noise of a surprise, a high whine from his chest.

And everything is perfect. It’s Christmas Eve and Steve thinks that he might be in love, there’s a cartoon he remembers watching as a kid forgotten about in the background and Billy’s teeth are scraping against his bottom lip like he’s dreamed about. It’s warm, the heater having kicked on, and it still smells like hot chocolate and pizza and Billy’s melting into him.

Really. It’s perfect.

\--

Steve wakes up first on Christmas morning.

Billy’s wearing the necklace now, and it sits on his bare chest perfectly, like it was always meant to find him. It sparkles when sunrays hit it, looks safe and secure against his scarred skin. And Steve. He’s always been a romantic, _sue him_ , so he can’t really help it when—

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers when he sits up and lets his weight rest on his elbow. The bed creaks softly beneath them. His free hand sits lightly on Billy’s stomach, and.

The sun is shining through the space in between Steve’s plaid curtains, lights Billy up like he’s something to witness. His eyelashes are golden from the pale light, resting softly against his cheeks. His curls are messy from sleep, pressed flat against his head, and his lips are so _pink,_ and the slope of his nose is just so fucking perfect, it’s _not fair_.

Steve wants to let him sleep in. But he also wants to _tell him_ all of this, because if not, he thinks he might explode with it.

So he shakes him, gently, hand feather-light on the raised skin of his shoulder.

Billy takes his time waking up. His eyes flutter open quickly and close again, and Steve watches him breathe through the first long moments of consciousness. It’s loud, the deep inhales he’s taking, and he stretches after a while, cold feet digging into Steve’s calves under the comforter.

And, like, Steve can _see_ the way Billy remembers everything that happened the night before. The way he looks Steve up and down the best he can with the covers in the way. His smile spreads slowly, then he reaches out to touch the hair on Steve’s chest.

It makes him shiver.

“Morning, baby.”

Steve smiles, moves to catch Billy’s wrist. Just wanting to touch him, somehow. “You sleep okay?”

“More than okay.”

“You’re beautiful,” Steve echoes. He lifts Billy’s hand until he can kiss across his knuckles. “You’re so beautiful when the shitty Indiana sun hits you, I can’t even imagine what you’re like in California.”

Billy’s flushing. Steve can see it on his cheeks and on his chest, making the gold of his necklace stand out even more. “Might have some pictures somewhere.”

“We’ll go. I’ll take my own pictures. Hang ‘em up on the fridge.”

“Can’t leave Hawkins, pretty boy. You forget that?”

Steve shrugs. “One day, then. After you’re cleared.”

Joyce and the kids arrive a few hours later, after they’ve washed the night off their skin and tidied up the living room and kitchen.

Steve can’t even remember the last time he had this many people over on Christmas. There’s a pleasant stream of chatter that doesn’t let up, filling up the emptiness of the house.

Joyce starts making a glazed spiral ham, sets out a pile of ingredients that make up the sides so that everyone will feel a little bad and offer to pitch in and help.

They make mashed potatoes, candied yams, green beans and buttermilk biscuits. She expertly crafts a pumpkin pie from scratch and sets it on the bottom shelf of the oven, below the ham.

Steve’s heart kind of feels like it’s going to explode. He hasn’t had a Christmas like this in what feels like forever.

His parents haven’t even _called_ , and it’s two in the afternoon. It’s well past nighttime, wherever the fuck they might be.

And normally he would feel _sick_ at the thought. Lock himself in his room, shut the curtains and blast some Bruce Springsteen to get over it. But he’s, like. He’s not even a _little_ upset.

Because El and Will are sitting on the couch, sharing a small tray of cheese and salami while the TV plays _A Christmas Story_. Joyce is taking the ham out of the oven after it’s fully baked, humming some Patsy Cline song that he only knows because of his grandmother. Billy’s sitting with him at the kitchen table, talking to Joyce about California, because she’s always wanted to visit.

And then the doorbell rings and Robin _and_ Heather are there. Steve throws a little wink at Robin, makes her blush and mouth, _fuck off_.

It’s the best Christmas he’s ever had.

Later, after dinner and pie, after everyone settles into guest rooms and Billy is snug beside him, he presses his lips to Billy’s temple and says,

“I’m happy because you’re here.”

**ONE YEAR LATER**

It’s a miracle that Steve hasn’t spoiled it.

There’s a _key_ in their bedside dresser, in the thin sleeve of an old wallet because Steve didn’t know how else to not raise suspicion.

There’s a moving truck scheduled to park outside in a week, and he’s been stressing about getting a confirmation phone call when Billy’s the only one at home. 

There’s a _we’ll miss you_ card signed by the kids and Robin and Heather in the junk drawer in the kitchen.

And there’s this bubble of excitement that’s been permanently sitting in his ribcage for the past two months, a constant chant of: _we’re moving to California. Billy’s being cleared and we’re moving to California_.

Dr. Owens really shouldn’t have told him. The closer the date gets, the more impatient he becomes.

Four days becomes three. Three becomes two. Two becomes one. And then—

And then Billy is waking Steve up with a shout and rough hands around his shoulders. Steve’s smiling before he’s even fully awake, because _finally_. Finally he knows and finally he can _tell him_ about the house, the going away party, _everything_.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to shake you that hard. I got _the call_.”

“I know you did,” Steve mumbles, voice raw and groggy from sleep. His smile is splitting, it hurts his cheeks. “You’d better start packing.”

“For what?”

When Steve tells him, Billy drops to the bed. He clutches the sheets like he needs a lifeline, to make sure this is _real_. “You’re serious.”

For a scary few seconds, Steve thinks he made the wrong call. He can feel his stomach drop straight down, a sickening sinking feeling, but then Billy’s laughing, a disbelieving hoot of a noise, and pounces on him so quickly that Steve falls backward with an _oof_.

“Love of my _fucking life_ ,” he’s saying through kisses, plants one on every inch of Steve’s face even as Steve’s sputtering and laughing. “Don’t know how I got so fucking lucky. My _boy_.”

Steve takes Billy’s face in between his hands and kisses him properly, sighs into it and relishes in the closeness. When he pulls away, he takes a second just to _stare_.

“How the fuck did you manage to do this?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Steve laughs, runs his fingers through Billy’s hair. It’s longer, again, almost touches his shoulders. “Joyce helped me with the house. Took a fucking trip over there. I think she just used that as an excuse to visit the ocean.”

“Fucking Joyce,” Billy breathes, flings himself over to lie flat on his back. “We should stop by her place on the way there. Get her a fuckin’ gift basket, or something.”

Steve’s smiling when he turns and presses kiss into Billy’s jaw. “Or we could thank her _tomorrow_. There might be a going away party.”

“Thought of everything, didn’t you, gorgeous boy?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t wait. Robin was getting sick of me talking about it.”

Billy huffs a laugh. “I bet. I’m gonna kiss you, now. Maybe forever.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

\--

The going away party is a success.

Billy looks _free_. He’s smiling and laughing and giving everyone hugs, turns _Duran Duran_ on full blast and pulls Steve into the middle of the living room, spins him around and dips him like they’re in some fucking romcom.

He _cries_ when he reads the card, gives everyone another, _longer_ hug on their way out (especially Joyce) and promises to call and write letters after they get settled in.

And then the next couple days pass in a flash, filled with packing the Camaro up the best they can without everything overflowing. It’s filled with Dustin _shrieking_ when Steve wordlessly hands him the keys to the Beemer. It’s filled with Max giving Billy a very pointed look, saying, _don’t forget about my sixteenth birthday_. Filled with teary hugs and cheek kisses and then they’re off, Indiana in the rearview mirror.

\--

Billy looks beautiful in California. Looks like he’s dripping in gold.

**Author's Note:**

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